


Now That the War Is Through with Me

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Mercy Killing, hydratrashmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4403648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"I know your creed. You should go outside now."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now That the War Is Through with Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written at the hydratrashmeme, for this prompt:
> 
> _HYDRA gets hold of Bucky before Steve and Sam can get to him, and they restart the whole brainwashing/reconditioning process. The only problem is, there are so few HYDRA scientists left now after the fall of SHIELD and the massive ensuing manhunt, that the people who are in charge of it fuck it up. I mean, they fuck it up completely, and they go too far, thus rendering the Winter Soldier more or less useless to them. Steve and Sam catch up to him eventually, only to find the mess that HYDRA left behind._
> 
> ...This is not the nice version.

Sam lay with his face to the wall and pretended not to hear Steve sobbing for long enough that he actually fell asleep. It had been a long, awful few days chasing the new trail laid for them. Now that they'd come to the end of it the instincts of combat finally kicked in, dragging him down to sleep at the first opportunity.

When he woke, the room was silent. Sam got up warily, but Steve was right where Sam had left him, standing with his hands braced against the steel table in the center of the room. 

Bucky was also where Sam had last seen him, lying on the table. He was motionless but for his breathing. His open eyes were directed up at the ceiling. 

There was a tear track spilling down from his left eye. It was enough to make Sam step forward, only to spot the bottle of eye drops next to Steve's hand. He'd been wetting Bucky's eyes for him. Saline had leaked. That was all.

"Is this a thing they can fix now?" 

Steve didn't look up as he spoke, the first words he'd said since his implacable _No_ when Sam tried to radio for some kind of help.

Sam stepped forward, looking down at Bucky again. Steve had cleaned up the trickles of dried blood from his ears and nose, dressed him in clean clothes, combed his hair. None of that made him look any less emptied out.

"Brain injuries are..." Sam trailed off as Steve finally raised his eyes, giving Sam a stare almost as bleak as Bucky's. 

Sam swallowed hard.

"Not for sure, no. If he heals, it'll be because he could heal it. There's good care. He could be comfortable."

"Comfortable," Steve repeated, and then he looked down at Bucky again. 

He brushed Bucky's hair back, his fingers following the curve of Bucky's ear. 

"We don't know," Sam tried, when Steve didn't have that empty gaze fixed on him. "He hasn't been evaluated by an actual doctor. He might get better, he might--"

"If I hand him over to the doctors," Steve said. "He turns into another project. They're obligated to preserve life. He's still breathing. That's life, to a doctor."

"Steve," Sam said, but he knew. He'd known when Steve started crying.

"You were a medic," Steve said. "I know your creed. You should go outside now."

Sam was tempted for a half second, but he wasn't a doctor. He was a triage medic. And the heart of triage was choosing between the guy you could save and the guy you couldn't--in the field, at a glance, with no diagnostics, no specialists giving a long-term prognosis.

A medic had to learn to live with making those choices. Sam was the guy on the ground now, and of the two men in front of him, Bucky wasn't the one he could save. 

"Is this," Sam took another step in, so he was standing directly across the table from Steve. "Is this what he wanted?"

"He wanted to come home from the fucking war," Steve said, his voice dry and level. "He wanted to take care of his family. He wanted me. All of that is gone. _He's_ \--"

Steve's voice wavered, almost broke, but it was steady when he spoke again. "He's gone. I'm all that's left. It's my call."

Steve was his priority here, and all Sam could offer him was the knowledge that he wasn't alone in this. 

"I'm not going anywhere."

Steve met his gaze for a few seconds that seemed to last forever before he nodded.

He leaned over Bucky, kissed his forehead and his lips. He whispered something in Bucky's ear, then straightened up and fixed his hair one more time.

Sam expected another delaying action, or something quiet and clean. He jumped when he saw the knife in Steve's hand, and by the time he understood what he was seeing it was over, a fountain of blood pouring from the unhesitating slice across Bucky's throat. Bucky's face, already a motionless mask, paled to the color of bone. His eyelids sagged as his empty eyes went dull.

Steve set the knife down with a click and closed Bucky's eyes with a gentle touch.

Sam thought he should probably say something. It wasn't the first death he'd seen this close, or this sudden. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Steve kill someone.

But Sam had never seen anything remotely like this. He had no ready words for this, and nothing came to mind.

Blood was dripping down from both sides of the table, pattering softly to the floor. Steve was dry-eyed and expressionless, but as pale as if all the blood he'd spilled was his.

He unslung his shield and laid it down on Bucky's chest.

When he walked out, Sam did not follow him.


End file.
